It’s a short bus ride from Mile End to Côte-des-Neiges. The 160 takes you there in under 5 klicks and no transfers, but the neighborhoods seem worlds apart. Mile End’s fairly homogenous landscape, punctuated by beards, Chihuahuas, and lattes, slowly morphs into what some might call a more ethnic make-up. Braids replace side parts, saris outnumber joggers, and patties are easier finds than vegan bowls. This is Côte-des-Neiges, home to a large immigrant population, a perching St-Joseph’s Oratory, and The Plaza – an important cultural space in Montreal, that I had walked, biked, and driven by, but never stepped into. When I invited Tali to participate in the project, her preconditions were that we conduct the shoot at The Plaza and drop in to Swagg City, the center’s crazy odd but really interesting sneaker spot.

“I picked The Plaza cause that’s like a landmark in my story, growing up in this neighborhood,” Nantali Indongo explains when I ask about her choice of location. “[It] was just really where we went, where our parents went, where our mothers went to shop.” The Nomadic Massive singer reflects on the generational nature of the Montreal institution and its importance to Caribbean and other immigrant communities. From serving as a public space in which people from different backgrounds socialized to one where kids went winter parking lot tobogganing, The Plaza is a perfect example of what W.E.B. Dubois called a point of transference. The African-American sociologist coined the term to describe places of contact between different cultures, where individuals intermingle and exchange knowledge. These liminal spaces are important to negotiating meanings, identities, and histories. This is the sense I got my first 15 or so minutes at The Plaza. Wandering around, waiting on Tali and Tron, I saw a bagel kiosk, a Persian carpet depot, and a Chinese grocery store. In the food court downstairs, the Subway had gone bankrupt, but the Jamaican jerk chicken joint was bustling.

The CBC broadcaster wasn’t lying when she called The Plaza a cultural hodgepodge. She also referred to the space as more of a mall than a shopping center. I don’t catch her drift until she comments on the type of stores the building houses. “We don’t have Gap at The Plaza,” Tali laughs. My mind wanders to a Chris Rock sound bite whose origin I can’t entirely pin, but I want to say the Bigger and Blacker audiotape. “Every town has two malls,” the comedian says. “The white mall, and the mall white people used to go to.” There are important racial and social implications embedded in both of these comments on consumer patterns and product types. Tali speaks to how certain fashion sensibilities can create cultural division and accentuate marginalization. In less economically favored circles, fresh kicks are symbols of opulence and success, glorified by Hip Hop and the consumer-industrial complex.

Until a few years ago, I only knew Tali as a musician. She’d invited me to dinner about 4 summers back, and though it’s tough to turn down her stuffed mushrooms, I only reluctantly went. The Grizz were playing the Spurs in the first round, and that night was Game 6. Z-Bo, Marc, and them had a chance to clinch. I said not a word, until the next day. I wasn’t used to putting social engagements ahead of hoops. Tali chuckles and admits she consistently wanted to sneak away from company for score updates. Her love for basketball started young and runs deep. “There was a time in my life (…) where I didn’t have an identity. My identity was ball,” the former collegiate athlete and coach shares. I was genuinely giddy to discover this hoop head side of someone I’d long loved and respected; but just as annoyed to discover Tali had a cable hook up at home. Had I only known that eating mushrooms and watching the game was actually an option.

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